Chapter Four

AARON

Present day . . .

Right on time, I’m impressed.

She doesn’t get out of her car right away, so I give her a second but then realize maybe she’s not exiting the vehicle because I have the key to the house and she has nowhere to go.

Wanting to make a good impression and seem approachable since I’m the property manager, I run my hand through my hair and adjust my jeans. I’m not wearing any fancy shit, but at least I don’t have holes in or paint stains on my clothes. I hop off my front porch and make my way toward her car, slowly, not wanting to scare her.

There is muffling coming from her car, voices I can’t quite hear, but I get the idea she’s finishing up a conversation, so I slow my pace drastically. That’s when I see her tilt her head down and look at me. From the reflection of the light off her windows, I can’t make out her features. I can only see a silhouette.

I lift a friendly hand in her direction to let her know I come in peace and make my way to her driveway. There is no wave back, but I do hear the telltale sound of her opening her car door. She steps out and when I round the vehicle, I catch the sun off her driver’s side window, temporarily blinding me.

Blinking my eyes a few times to calm my retinas, I bring her into focus.

“Aaron . . .”

Every hair on my body sticks straight up and my body goes still from that voice, that unmistakably sultry voice.

When she finally comes into view, I am met with a pair of hazel eyes I haven’t been able to get out of my head since the day she left town for bigger and better things.

“Amelia.” I clear my throat and take a step forward. “Wow, I uh . . .” Tongue-tied, that’s exactly what I am right now. “Didn’t expect to see you get out of that car.” I laugh nervously while I pull on the back of my neck, trying to comprehend what’s going on. I point with my thumb toward the house and ask, “You’re the new tenant?”

She nods and looks me over, taking her time with her perusal, her eyes burning a hole right through my clothes like they used to. When her eyes meet mine again, she asks, “You’re the property manager?”

I nod and swallow hard. “And neighbor.”

She presses her lips together, thinning them out. “What are the chances?” She laughs nervously.

“Yeah, especially since I thought your life was in the city.” I didn’t mean for that to come out rude, but it did. Gentling my voice, I ask, “What brings you back home?”

Staring at the ground, clutching her purse to her side, she says, “My dad. He’s, uh, not doing well.” Duh, Mrs. Ferguson mentioned something like that. I’m so damn overwhelmed and shocked right now though, that entire conversation I had with Mrs. Ferguson is not registering in my mind.

“Oh no.” My brow pinches together in concern. “What happened?”

She waves me off. “Nothing you need to worry about.” And just like that she shuts me down. Honestly, I’m surprised she said that much to me after how we ended things between us.

Yes, there was an us, a perfectly beautiful, love-filled us. Amelia Santos was the best thing to ever happen to me, and yet, she was also the worst. During a time when my heart broke from every uncaring glance from my mom, Amelia resurrected me from the ashes I would have otherwise drowned in. She was my rock, the one solid feature in my life.

She was also my downfall.

She was going places, and I wasn’t. She had opportunity, and I had none. She wanted me to move with her, and I couldn’t, but no way in hell would I hold her back. I barely made it out of my mom’s house. There were many days when I tried hard to earn a buck so I could find a place to live other than the homeless shelter where I spent many lonely nights. Amelia deserved better than that, so I pushed her away to achieve her dreams. Little did I know, breaking up with her would send me in the biggest downward spiral of my life. The only reason I’m the man I am today is because after hitting rock bottom, I knew things needed to change, and it was up to me to make something of myself. So I worked my ass off. And now at thirty, I can say proudly that I’m a co-owner of an up-and-coming construction company as well as the proud owner of a house in the heart of Hillcrest, a beautiful two-story house. I’m doing well for myself . . . at least that’s what I thought until Amelia stepped out of her car.

Now I’m questioning every little thing about my life leading to this point.

Clearing my throat, I say, “I won’t keep you long. I’m sure you’ve had a long drive and want to get settled.” I hold out my hand. “Here is a key to the house as well as the garage door opener.” I hand her the Ziploc bag Mrs. Ferguson put everything in. She takes it but steps back immediately, as if being too close to me might burn her. “Trash day is Tuesdays. If you want, I can move your trash can forward for you so you don’t have to bother.”

“I can handle it,” she says quickly.

I nod. “Uh, the place is fully furnished, cleaned, and ready for you to move in. If you see anything abnormal, just let me know, and I’ll bring it to Mrs. Ferguson’s attention. I did a walk-through this morning, and it all looked good. If you encounter any issues at all, please feel free to contact me. I left my card with my number in the bag in case anything goes wrong. That’s my cell number so you can text or call, either works.” She nods, avoiding all eye contact with me. “Unless you have any questions, I can help you unload.”

“That’s not necessary. I don’t have a lot.”

I check out the back of her car. She really doesn’t, but I’m still not going to make her do it by herself.

“I promised Mrs. Ferguson I would help. We are surrounded by her old cronies.” I motion toward the neighborhood. “No doubt they’re staring at us now so if I don’t help, I know Mrs. Ferguson will give me grief. I’d rather avoid that if I could.”

She nibbles on her lip, worry in her eyes. Is she nervous around me? Worried I could hurt her? Might try to pick up where we left off before I broke both our hearts?

“Well, I don’t want to upset Mrs. Ferguson, as she is my landlord and all.”

“And a tough old bird. She might sound sweet, but you don’t want to cross her,” I gently tease.

“Noted.” Amelia looks up at me and lightly smiles, and just like that, my heart starts pumping blood through my veins feverously. That smile, fuck, it has the same effect on me as it did five years ago since we first met.

I start toward the back of her car, wanting to break the tension rolling through my body. “Why don’t you go open up the house and look around while I start unpacking. Anything fragile I need to be careful with?”

Turning toward me, she gives me a look, a look that says I already broke the one thing that mattered the most . . .

Her phone rings and she answers immediately with a smile on her face. “Hey, honey. Yeah, I made it just fine.”

And from the sound of it, someone else swooped in and picked up the pieces of her heart I shattered so terribly.

She’s with someone else now.

She giggles and walks toward the house, her soft voice that used to caress my ears now reserved for another man, a different man. Why did I think otherwise? Only an absolute idiot would let someone like Amelia Santos go.

An absolute idiot, or an undeserving man who knew she deserved the world.

Wanting to get this over with, I open the trunk of her SUV and I’m immediately smacked in the face by her perfume. Dolce & Gabbana, Light Blue. I would know that scent anywhere. It was the scent sprayed on my pillow to ease the ache in my chest when I wasn’t with her, and it was the smell I would breathe in when my girl was wrapped in my arms.

It’s the smell that has haunted me.

It’s the smell I’ve craved for years.

My body aches, my stomach rolling on itself from being reminded of a past I tried so desperately to bury, tried to get over, but with Amelia here, memories float in and out of my head. The good times we had together come to the forefront of my mind, making it impossible to deny wanting her.

“Fuck,” I mutter while trying to take a deep breath and get my head on straight.

There’s a reason why you broke up with her . . .

And yet, all those reasons don’t exist anymore. I’m a different person than the boy she knew when she was in college. I’m a man with a future, with a promise to support and love her and yet, I’m too late.

Her laugh echoes through the house, traveling out to the driveway where I stand, mourning what I used to have. What I threw away. Gave away.

Whoever she’s talking to is one lucky bastard, that’s for damn sure.

***

I set down the last box and take a look around Amelia’s new space. It actually fits her. At least it fits the girl I used to know. “I believe that’s it. Do you need help with anything else?”

“I’m good.” She shakes her head, not making eye contact with me.

To say the last twenty minutes has been awkward is an understatement. We didn’t really speak to each other besides the occasional “Where would you like this box?” From the hurt in her eyes when she looks at me, Amelia is still affected by our breakup. It guts me.

“Okay, well I’m right next door. You have my number. If anything goes wrong with the house, let me know and I’ll come over and fix it. The grass shouldn’t need another mow, but if it does, I’ll be sure to take care of that. Snow removal is on me as well.”

“Okay,” she answers, her head turned down.

With my lips pressed together, I nod and walk toward the front door, itching to say something. I want to clear the air. I want to let her know I’m sorry, that what I did was for her.

I have my hand on the knob to the front door when I turn toward her. “I’m sorry, Amelia.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t.”

“Amelia—”

Her eyes snap up to me, fury filling them up. “I said don’t, Aaron. What happened is over with, it was three years ago, and I’ve chosen to forget about it . . . forget about you.” She swallows hard as silence stretches between us. Never once did I forget about her; there was no way I could, not when she’s the one who still owns my heart. Clearing her throat, she says, “This just happens to be an inconvenient coincidence and that’s it. I’m not looking to reconnect or hash out the past.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “It would be too painful.”

Fuck.

A monstrous ache clenches my chest, seizing the breath from my lungs. I so desperately want to tell her how sorry I am, how much I still think about her, but taking her in right now, I know it would be selfish. She’s moved on, she’s doing well for herself, so I need to stay out of her way and let her live her life.

I sigh deeply, defeat in my shoulders. “I understand. I’m sorry if I crossed a line. Let me know if you need anything.” With one last goodbye, I say, “Pizza around the corner is good, but I know you’re a Nirchi’s nut, so the one on Front Street is the closest. Price Chopper is just up the road along with a gas station and Dunkin’. There is a park down the road with some good running paths, not sure if you still like to run.”

“I do,” she answers softly.

“It’s safe down there, and it’s about a mile from here so you can get in a good run. And Halloween is in a few weeks. We have lots of trick-or-treaters, so stock up.” I open the door. “I think that’s it. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

I make my way back to my house and pull out my phone. I text both my boys at the same time.

Aaron: Alcohol, now. Reardon’s in ten.

I press send and go into my house for my car keys. Someone will be driving me home tonight, that’s for damn sure.

***

I’ve downed two shots and a tumbler of whiskey by the time Racer and Tucker show up. The House of Reardon, our go-to bar, isn’t very far from where we all live, kind of in the middle, but given my race to get some alcohol into my system, I’m a few drinks in already.

“I brought reinforcements,” Racer says as he tosses a box of Swiss Rolls in front of me. I can always count on Racer to bring Little Debbie snacks, our sacred lover. “Your text made it seem like you needed to suckle at Debbie’s teet tonight.”

“I do.” I rip open the box, tear open a wrapper, and pop an entire roll in my mouth in seconds.

“I guess so,” Racer says, a little astonished.

“Tucker close?”

“Right here,” Tucker says, pulling up a chair next to me at the bar. He pats my shoulder and tosses a box of Zebra Cakes in front of me. My boys know me well.

“Zebra Cakes? Dude, I brought Swiss Rolls. Zebra Cakes are piss when it comes to times like this.”

“It’s all I had left. Emma’s been eating all my Nutty Bars.”

“Why even buy Zebra Cakes? You know that frosting turns into a paste.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Tucker run his hand over his face. “Emma got them. When she shops, she literally doesn’t consider which ones she buys; it’s just a sweep of her arm over the shelf. Can’t complain about that.”

“I guess you can’t.” Racer becomes less defensive. “I have to sneak my Debbies past Georgie. She says they’re making her fat, which is not even close to true. When she sees a box or even a wrapper in the house, she yells at me . . . and then asks for one.” Tucker and Racer laugh together as I grow more and more irritated.

“Can we not talk about Emma and Georgie right now?” I grit out, my hands holding my face in frustration.

Tucker and Racer quiet and I feel their gazes on me. It’s very out of character for me to act like a dick, especially when it comes to their girls, but hearing about their love lives isn’t sitting well in my stomach right now.

Racer calls to the bartender. “Three glasses of whiskey please.” He turns on his stool to face me and asks, “What’s going on, man?”

Releasing my face, I play with my empty glass and say, “I met my new neighbor today.”

“From the sound of your voice and the need to imbibe alcohol, I’m going to assume you know this person,” Tucker says, facing me as well.

I nod. “It’s Amelia.”

Racer and Tucker didn’t know me when Amelia and I were together, but they’ve heard about her on many drunken nights. Just like I knew about Tucker’s ex, Sadie, and Racer’s debts. We’ve shared everything with each other over bottles of booze and Little Debbie snacks. Tonight is no exception.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Racer says, astonished. Believe me, so am I. “The Amelia, the girl you let go?”

I nod, plopping the other Swiss Roll from the package in my mouth, only to follow up with opening the Zebra Cakes. I don’t care about the film. I’ll eat them all.

“Shit,” Tucker mutters. “Did she recognize you?”

I sarcastically laugh. “The second she saw me. I haven’t changed much from when I last saw her, just probably added fifty pounds of muscle.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing really. I kept it cordial. Told her about the house, neighborhood, and helped her move boxes into the house.”

“Fuck, that sounds awkward,” Racer says.

“Yeah, that’s an understatement.” I lean back in my chair just as the bartender hands us our drinks. Without even a second thought, I down the entire thing and place the glass back on the bar. “She looked so damn good.” My voice cracks from the confession.

She did. She looked just like the girl I fell in love with so many years ago, but this time, she had a sense of maturity wrapped around her. Her caramel hair was longer and in waves, her olive skin just as smooth as I remembered, and those hazel eyes of hers once again split me in half. And fuck, her curves, from her ample breasts, to her curvy ass, I wanted nothing but to feel them, to memorize her body all over again.

“Shit, I’m sorry man.” Tucker calls over the bartender. “Three shots . . . and keep them coming.”

“I tried to tell her I was sorry.” I shake my head from the idiotic attempt.

“Tried?” Racer asks as he opens all the little Debbie snacks and piles them on top of the Zebra Cake box. We start to take down the pyramid of confectionary sugar, one mouthful at a time.

“She shut me down before I could even explain. Told me to drop it. Told me she was over me and didn’t want to hash out the past.” Our past. I run my hand through my hair. “Pretty much told me she’s forgotten about me.”

Racer and Tucker exchange glances and at the same time, hold up a Little Debbie snack to me. I don’t have to acknowledge them. I take both snacks and plop them in my mouth.

After that, we don’t talk, instead we get hammered. Shot after shot we down, chasing each one with a Little Debbie snack. Before we know it, we’re hanging on to the bar counter floating around in a sugar and alcohol coma, just the way I like it.

“There’s my girl,” Racer shouts as he topples off his stool and onto the floor, laughing hysterically. Georgie stops in her tracks and looks over at Emma, who’s standing next to her, both holding two boxes of Little Debbie snacks each.

“Emmmmmmmma,” Tucker drags out, waving his glass in the air. “You brought the snacks.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Emma mutters as she approaches us.

I point to my mouth and say, “Feed me. Daddy needs sugar.”

Racer is beside me, tangled in the pegs of his bar stool, still laughing. “Did you bring Oatmeal Pies, George? Please tell me you have the pies.”

“Uh, I think you’ve had enough for tonight,” she says, looking down at her boyfriend.

“Never!” Racer struggles to get up and finally knocks the chair over to free himself. “Fucking bitch chair, digging into me with its claws.” Talking to the stool directly he says, “I’m taken, warm someone else’s ass.”

“He’s going to propose, chair, leave him alone,” Tucker announces, causing me to cringe.

“Dude, don’t say it out loud.” I punch Tucker in the shoulder. “Georgie is right there.” All three of us turn to Georgie, who’s shaking her head in humor. Hopefully.

“I’ll take Aaron,” Emma tells Georgie. “Seems like Racer is more of a handful.”

“Hell yeah, I am.” Racer stumbles while cupping his crotch. “A giant handful.”

Georgie rolls her eyes. “And that’s our cue to leave.”

“But we didn’t eat our snacks.”

“Seems like you had enough.” Georgie grabs Racer by the hand. “Come on.”

As they walk away, Racer asks, “Want to have sex in the car?”

“Not even a little.”

“Here, you two, you can have your boxes of snacks.” Emma hands Tucker and me both a box of Oatmeal Pies that we clutch to our chests.

“You’re the best,” I admit.

“She is, isn’t she?” Tucker says. “I love her so fucking hard. Best wife ever.”

She pulls on both of our hands to get us moving. “She wins wife of the year award,” I announce. “Best wife goes to Emma. Can we get a round of applause?”

Tucker breaks open his Oatmeal Pies and starts spraying them like confetti. “Emma. Emma. Emma.” He chants, getting the three other patrons in the bar to join in.

I pump my fist as well, forgetting everything from earlier. I knew I could count on my guys.

“Emma. Emma. Emma . . .”

And then, everything fades to black. Emotions and feelings are non-existent as I pass out, just the way I like it. Just the way I need it.